Find a Juliet
by DarkSeaRain
Summary: L has just finished reading "Romeo and Juliet" and reflects on his own experience in love.


**Hi and hello! My very first FanFic, my little pioneer! This is something I came up with, because I am reading "Romeo and Juliet", and thought of how L must feel alone sometimes.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or Romeo and Juliet. Both are incredible, but I do not own them.**

"Romeo and Juliet" was by far the most horrid story in existence.

L tossed the book aside, having just finished reading (in 10 minutes, no less), and wore a look of revulsion on his face. Watari had convinced him to read his (Watari's) favorite work of Shakespeare—much to L's displeasure—but he respected Watari's judgment and decided to see if the suggestion was worth anything.

His time had been wasted.

It was not possible for two people to simply look at one another, without any background information on that person, and fall into a state of blind devotion to the point of willing death.

The probability of that was roughly 9%

Love indeed! The two children were hardly fifteen! It seemed to L that it was more a story on how hormonal levels could spin out of control out of inexperience. It was not a love story, it was a lust story.

How could they stray from their line of duty to society by marrying their enemy? They would have done better to marry their designated engagements.

L leaned back in his chair, gnawing on his thumbnail in agitation. The two youths knew nothing of love, and it was reckless, not to mention childish, of them to marry and then

commit suicide for feelings of obsessive liking.

L closed his eyes, internally scoffing the juvenile actions of the two "lovers". They knew nothing of love…

If only the dark-haired man could justify such thoughts. It was not like he had a better story; he knew not of the intoxicating power of Love's embrace, not once tried to make sense of the thrill of a first love, and had only ever found interest in people when they could have a link in a crime case.

He had often observed the proceedings of Valentine's Day in its usual money spree. A young child flew around (Honestly, flew? What nonsense) shooting people with arrows (How painful!), and consequently the two victims fell in love at first sight (much like the young Romeo and Juliet). Then the people would belt out incomprehensible words of comparison to flowers and cosmic wonders, which in no way could be realistic to what a person is actually like.

Then, L rolled his eyes at the thought, material things like cards and flowers were bought, which seemed to be a conventional key to gaining a person's affections.

L, though, also heard that chocolate was distributed, and who wouldn't want that?

But what was wrong with him? Why couldn't he understand it too?

He had never felt drawn to any woman before. He was not exactly the sociable type, considering how he would rather stay awake monitoring computers or researching identity checks for days on end; would rather be locked in a dark secluded room in the most remote location possible than be alone with a beautiful young lady for even five minutes.

That's not to mention the fact that no one is supposed to know his true name or face—for security reasons—and such precaution did not permit a person like him to get too close to anyone.

And, on the off chance he did meet a woman, and then felt that warm longing inside of him, how could anyone ever return those feelings? Who could ever love a freak like him? The detective had never really presented a feeling of confidence or organized demeanor he had seen some businessmen possess. How could anyone stand that! If L would never figure out one mystery, it would be the importance of fashion. Ties were just fancy nooses in his eyes, and that made him feel anxious. One advantage to be faceless was that no one could judge him by how he dressed.

L reached for the large porcelain sugar bowl sitting on the coffee table in front of him, grabbed a handful of sugar cubes, and proceeded to drop them one-by-one into the steaming cup of black coffee sitting in it's neat white saucer. He idly stirred the contents with a spoon while he became further lost in his musings.

He knew he was different; the aliased detective had accepted that fact long ago. He had never really grown close to anyone before, besides his father figure, who as far as L could remember had been the only being to ever love him. That meant more to L than he could ever explain, or care to, and would be nothing without him.

But what he needed, L blushed slightly with a feeling of shame, was someone...his age.

Honestly, that was his conclusion?

He recalled several girls in his memory that had possibly tried to gain his attention. One occasion stood out particularly clearly in his mind like a lone candle in a lifeless cave. It was on a cold winters night, around Christmas, when he was visiting the Whammy House Orphanage and was only seventeen.

_Snow danced and lazily drifted around L when he had arrived with Watari, which quickly turned into a fierce gale that would not let up, leaving the two comrades stranded at the orphanage for several days. The young L was in the lounge, the blazing fire in it's grate casting flickering shadows on the young man's face. He was alone, not that it mattered, because he worked best when left to his own devices. If anything, he was content with the other children being told to leave him alone. His attention was fixed on an important case file that contained details on the newest case he had decided to take on. A detective's work was never done, and it was best to try to catch up on work while he had the time._

_The large oak door creaked open, and a girl whom he had never spoken to before hesitantly walked inside. She strode over to where L was sitting in his usual way with his legs close to his chest by the window in his favorite armchair, and the young lady stopped right in front of him. Though L saw her out from his peripheral vision, he did not look up until she cleared her throat pointedly. Feeling a twinge of reluctance, he raised his head from the papers. _

_Even though he was inexperienced with love, it did not imply that he did not know beauty when he saw it. The girl, whom he guessed was about his age—no less than fifteen—had shoulder-length ebony hair, much like his own, except hers was tamed, falling in curtains around her small heart-shaped face. She had lovely olive skin that set off her fierce amber eyes quite nicely, accompanied by a slender figure, and L knew that if he were standing (straight, not in his usual slouch), she would be a head shorter than he was._

_Typical of him, L asked, "May I help you?"_

_The girl pushed her hair back behind her ear and smiled. "You're L aren't you?"_

"_Yes, I am."_

"_May I sit?"_

"_You may."_

_She sat down in the chair across to the detective's own, and stared down at her hands._

"_Is something troubling you?" L asked, though he wouldn't be sure how to deal with her worries anyway, since logic did not always go hand-in-hand with sympathy._

"_No." The girl said, gazing out at the dark window, which reflected the flickering light from within the spacious room, "It's just cold."  
"The cold helps you to think", L said, turning back to his files._

_The young girl watched him read for a moment, and then asked, "Would you mind if I read as well?"_

"_By all means, do as you wish."_

_The girl pulled out a small, leather-bound book from underneath her jacket, and opened it to a marked page. Out of curiosity, L bent his head to look at the cover of the book._

"_Jane Eyre?"_

_The girl looked into his eyes, smiling. "It's a lovely book."_

_They did not speak for the rest of the evening. L felt the chill of the room, heard the howl of the icy wind, and yet, he felt a glowing warmth from seeing the sparkle in her eyes…_

L knew what was wrong.

Being the greatest detective of the century had nothing to do with it. Growing up in an orphanage was irrelevant. Even being friendless and parentless meant nothing.

L couldn't love because he just didn't know how to love. What did it mean, anyway?

What caused a person to feel such infatuation?

Was there someone who would not mind his appearance or habits, respecting that he did whatever necessary to solve a case? There had to be a person who would look at him and see someone that he did not even know existed within him. He needed someone to teach him how to care.

But this was not possible. As he had concluded, it might be dangerous to talk to too many people whenever he went outside. In any case, most avoided him for his strange appearance. Was he just a coward? Could being unwanted be his own fault? It might be that he could never change his cold, dark, indifferent nature, and never find a Juliet.

Suddenly, the screen in front of L lit up with the exquisitely drawn 'W' in the center of the bright screen. Watari was calling for him.

L pressed the voice button to reply, "What is it, Watari?"

"I'm sorry to disturb you, L," Came the wavering and tinny voice from the speaker, altered by the built-in voice scrambler, "But I was curious to see if you enjoyed Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'?" The distorted voice sounded slightly amused, though it was difficult to tell from the laptop.

L gazed at the book lying innocently on the edge of the table, bearing a simple dark blue cover and an elegant script that announced the title of L's inner torment.

L turned back toward the computer, the nearly blank screen making L's already pallid face look even paler, and making his dark eyes seem to glow. Had Watari been there in person, he would have been able to notice that L's normally vacant expression was tinged with conflict.

"I can honestly say that it has made a powerful impression upon me, Watari."


End file.
